


a little more 'touch me'

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A surprising amount of fluff hidden in pure porn, M/M, Spanking, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5862472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky first proposed it, still twitchy and paranoid and secretive, Steve felt like it was the furthest thing from intimacy. Now, arguably, it’s when he feels closest to Bucky. Because giving up control like this, willingly, speaks volumes to the person that Bucky was when Steve and Sam had finally cornered him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little more 'touch me'

“You’re trembling,” Steve murmurs.

And Bucky is, faint shudders against the palm of Steve’s hand. Some of them probably have more to do with the minute jerks of his hips against the rough denim on Steve’s thighs, but there’s an excited energy there as well intermingled with the blackness of his mood that originally brought them here.

Bucky is quiet, for now. He’s too full of need to be anything other than energy, and he's clawing at their sheets already, close to begging as he can get without talking. The sweetheart curve of his ass is tempting: Steve wants to open Bucky up nice and slick with his tongue like he’s learned, slip two fingers in alongside until Bucky is begging and screwing his hips back against Steve’s face, letting out wordless pleas and phrases rough enough to heat Steve's cheeks.

This is still so new to him, and sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with it. Bucky takes himself and lays his trust in Steve’s hands, and Steve can lead an army, can shout orders in the middle of battle without batting an eye, but it had taken weeks for him to be comfortable taking Bucky’s control like this. When Bucky first proposed it, still twitchy and paranoid and secretive, Steve felt like it was the furthest thing from intimacy. Now, arguably, it’s when he feels closest to Bucky. Because giving up control like this, willingly, speaks volumes to the person that Bucky was when Steve and Sam had finally cornered him.

When Steve smooths his hand down Bucky’s flank he gets a whimper in response, Bucky arching up into his touch. The hard line of Bucky’s cock digs in where it presses into Steve’s leg as Bucky grinds down. It earns a swat on Bucky’s ass, gentle, and his low moan underscores Steve when he says, “Be patient.”

“Please,” Bucky whines, and his voice is hoarse, pitchy. It sends a wave of dizzying arousal through Steve, and the uncomfortable push of his cock against his jeans reminds him that he’s still clothed. “I need you, please–”

“I know, baby,” Steve soothes, and Bucky goes limp against him, forehead resting against his forearm. Steve strokes the small of Bucky’s back as a reward and gives his thigh a squeeze. Thinking it over, he says, “We’re gonna do ten today. Are you okay with ten?”

A nod, and Steve grips a handful of Bucky’s ass and squeezes. Bucky jerks, his gasp muted against his skin. “Use your words.”

“Y-yes.”

“Will you take ten like a good boy?”

A bone-deep shudder this time, shaking Bucky’s entire frame. “Oh god—yes, Steve, please.”

“What is your safeword?”

“пауза.”

“And what system are we using?”

“Stoplight. Red, yellow, green.”

“What are you?”

“I’m green, Steve. So fucking green, please just—”

The crack is louder than Steve had intended, and it melts the end of Bucky’s sentence into a high-pitched moan. The handprint blooms bright red against Bucky’s pale skin before fading to a blushing pink. It’s hot to the touch when Steve skims his fingers over it. When the moan is all he gets in response Steve hits over the mark, sharply asking, “What was that?”

“O-one.” Bucky’s voice is stilted, but there’s already that slight dreamy edge to it.

“‘One’ what?”

“One. Captain.”

Steve sucks in a breath that gets caught in his throat. His heart hammers in his chest. He still doesn’t feel like he deserves the title, not when there are men and women who worked their asses off to earn their own while he had his handed to him, but the way that Bucky says it makes Steve feel like he does.

There’s a lot that Steve’s learned to accept in his life. Bucky underneath him is one of those things. Now it’s easier. Less people care; no one glances at the two men seated a little closer than normal. Back then, before the war, when his attraction to Bucky had been a heavy rattlesnake of dread in Steve’s belly, rearing its head and rattling its warning when Steve stared too long or frantically brought himself off to red-faced fantasies about the bare, sun-browned skin of Bucky’s shoulders, Steve had spurned any advances until it had just _happened_.

After losing Bucky—after losing _themselves_ , for all intents and purposes—Steve just accepts.

And he _loves it_.

“That’s right,” Steve replies, clearing his throat at the sudden huskiness he hears there. Bucky is gorgeous spread out vulnerable over his legs: raised ass and wonderfully rippling muscles as he shifts and grasps the sheets, the glint of his cybernetic arm sharp in the light of their room. He doesn’t warn about the next hit, like he didn’t about the first: Bucky likes the surprise, likes how it intensifies the pain. Steve likes the sound of their flesh together. He likes watching the ripple and the bloom of color and the raw, visceral way that Bucky reacts, like Steve’s prodded him with a red-hot poker. Likes listening to the words, a jumbled mix of English and the sharp-sounding vowels of Russian, fall panting from Bucky's lips.

(He remembers the first time, after everything, after he'd finally had Bucky in his bed again, that a fluent string of Russian had come out of Bucky's mouth. It had brought back, too vividly, the moment on the bridge, when Bucky had still been the faceless assassin. And it had taken Steve too long to appreciate the cadence of a foreign language on Bucky's tongue: too long to seek it out, groaned low in his ear, whispered against his neck, gasped into the pillow.)

“Two,” Bucky groans, and Steve looks down to see him sinking his teeth into the skin of his flesh wrist, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut. “Captain.”

Three and four go on the creamy pale skin of Bucky’s other cheek. Five, which is shrieked out, hits Bucky square across the ass, and Steve has to grab Bucky’s hips and pull him up, he’s rutting so frantically against Steve’s leg. If he were to turn Bucky over, Steve knows, he would spread his legs, heavy-lidded, and invite Steve between them, begging in dulcet tones honeyed thick with filth.

“Oh, god, Steve, sir, _please_ ,” Bucky’s gasping. He’s jerking like an eager racehorse in Steve’s hold, babbles building in a crescendo. “Fuckin’ make it hurt, give it to me, I can take it, you know I can.”

“Stay still and I might,” Steve snaps, and just like that Bucky does. As a precaution anyway Steve takes a handful of Bucky’s long hair, twisting it up in his fist to tug Bucky’s head back. it arches him so beautifully, and Steve voices it, bites his lip and says, “God, I want to draw you like this,” and Bucky absolutely _keens_ , says, “Fuck, yeah.”

“Can you take more?” Steve asks, tugging a little harder on Bucky’s hair.

A choked sound gets trapped in Bucky’s throat. “Please, Captain. Give it to me.”

Six is on the tender skin of Bucky’s upper thigh. Steve’s cock gives a heady throb in his pants when he lets go of Bucky’s hair to press him into the mattress, staring at the top of his back before moving to curve his hand around the nape of Bucky’s neck, pushing as he threads the tips of his fingers back through Bucky’s hair.

“You want me to touch you?”

“ _Six_ —oh, shit, Steve, touch me, Christ, want you so _fuckin’_ bad c’mon…”

Bucky is hot and damp in Steve’s fist. It earns him a string of swears, colorful in both English and what broken Russian that Steve knows from Natasha. He slides his hand back, trails his knuckles over the heavy hang of Bucky’s balls, drags it up his perineum before he’s landing hit number seven.

Bucky falls back to the mattress, cry muffled as he bites at the sheets, pushes back into the sting of Steve’s palm. He turns his head to the side, and there’s a glitter of a tear in his creased corner of his eye before it slides down his nose. Steve’s learned to accept this, has learned to love it like Bucky loves it.

Still, he can’t help but check in, wide-eyed wonderment at the pink flush to Bucky’s ass. “Color?”

Bucky makes a displeased noise, wriggling on Steve’s lap, panting, “Green, still so goddamn green, Stevie, I swear to god—”

Sass earns him another hit. Steve maybe puts a little more force behind this one, if only to smirk at Bucky’s broken shout, his jagged, “Oh, Jesus, _seven_.”

Steve traces the faint imprint of his hand— _his mark, god, no one will see these but him_ —and places number eight over the newest of them. Bucky’s shoulders hunch, hips shuddering up and away. His scream is muffled by a mouthful of sheets; when he pulls back, gasping low and deep, it leaves a string of saliva. Steve knows without looking that Bucky is almost there, nearly in that place, just like knows that his eyes will be glassy and unfocused.

“Nine,” Bucky says, “yeah, yeah, give it to me, _fuck_ me.” He arches his ass up higher, and Steve lands number ten in the center. “ _Ten—_ ten, Captain, I’m so close, please, please, do it, give it to me, fuck me fuck me—”

“Calm down,” Steve murmurs, running his hand over Bucky’s heated flesh. “Not tonight, Buck, okay? You did so well, sweetheart. Do you wanna come?”

“Been so good, sir, please. Wanna come. Let me come for you,” Bucky is saying, looking up, and his eyes are unfocused, red-rimmed and damp like his cheeks. Between his legs he is hard as an iron poker, hot and red, slick against his belly as Steve gently turns him over. Steve bends to kiss him, lick the salt away from swollen lips, mapping the indents from Bucky’s teeth with his tongue.

He sits back and takes Bucky in hand, pre-come drooling over the heaving shadows of Bucky’s belly, and it’s only a few slick strokes before Bucky is arching, coming, teeth sunk into his wrist and head thrown back. Steve jerks him through it, feels the rushing pulse of orgasm in the throbbing veins of Bucky’s cock, the trembling muscle of his thigh where it’s pressed against Steve’s.

Using his free hand Steve clumsily undoes his belt and jeans, letting out a small pinched moan as he finally takes himself in hand. Already he can feel the heat at the base of his spine, like the blooming beginnings of an explosion. Bucky staggers up onto his elbows and watches with hooded eyes, hair stuck to the gleam of sweat on his forehead. His dark gaze flickers from Steve’s face down to where he’s frantically stroking his cock, and that’s all it takes for Steve’s body to lock up, head falling back before he’s hunched over, gasping punched-out breaths that end in shuddering, dragged inhales as he spills slick over his hand and Bucky’s torso. It feels like a supernova has gone off inside him, sucked-in before exploding outwards. It leaves him trembling.

“Should we,” he gasps when he feels like he can breathe again, and god, that’s not a feeling that he misses at all, “get cleaned up? You need salve.”

Bucky shakes his head, goddamn that masochist. “I don’t need it.”

“Do you remember last time during the briefing—”

“ _Honestly_ , Steve.”

Steve levels Bucky with a glare that has made lesser S.H.I.E.L.D. agents buckle. Since it’s Bucky, he gets nothing but coolly raised eyebrows in response. Steve sighs. “It’s my job to take care of you.”

Bucky pulls him in for a kiss. Steve shivers, like he always does, at the initial touch of Bucky’s metal fingers to his skin. “You’re gonna bruise—,” he tries to say, but the words get kissed out of him.

“Let’s worry about it later,” Bucky says, lips so close to Steve’s they’re still brushing. The tight lines around his eyes have loosened somewhat, but even after this Steve can see the slight pinch of frustration in Bucky’s face.

Steve should say no and insist on the proper aftercare, like all the websites had said. Bucky knows this, too. But Steve has also made a point to not subvert every suggestion Bucky makes, or every decision. He barely has both legs on the ground.

“I won’t like it,” Steve warns, but the corner of his mouth curls up, and he reaches for the tissues in sort of a silent compromise It makes Bucky’s face soften a little more, and then he’s smiling, too and kissing Steve’s wrist after he’s thrown the tissues away.

When Bucky smiles, sometimes Steve feels like he could move the earth if he had to.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://endofadream.tumblr.com) is here, for anyone interested in a wildly erratic blog mirroring the wildly erratic blogger and writer.


End file.
